Let’s talk about Darren Pang’s poop…the Mark Chipman School of Journalism…Winnipeg news snoops under fire…No ShoTime in the Republic of Tranna…LIV Golf is Rahm tough…and other things on my mind

Darren Pang

So, now that the Social Media Mob has reduced its commentary on L’Affaire Perry/Bedard to a dull roar, what have we learned?

Well, a couple of things, actually:

1) Darren Pang is full of crap.

2) Apparently Puck Pontiff Mark Chipman has appointed himself Official Apologist for news snoops on the Winnipeg Jets beat.

Let’s start with Pang.

You might remember Panger as a one-time National Hockey League goaltender who needed to stand on a bar stool just to reach up and touch the crossbar. (Seriously. The guy’s shorter than a two-year-old’s attention span. The Chicago Blackhawks didn’t get him a boarding pass for team flights. They just stored him in an overhead luggage bin.)

Nowadays, of course, Pang is a natterbug on Blackhawks and TNT broadcasts, and those duties took him to downtown Winnipeg last weekend, at which time the Corey Perry scandal was still a live grenade and the Family Bedard was still catching internet shrapnel from a Social Media Mob (SMM) that had taken a class-action dive into the deep end of the cesspool known as X.

Just to refresh: Perry had done something ghastly.

So ghastly that the Hawks still won’t talk about it, except to say the veteran forward’s misdeed “does not involve any player or their families.”

So ghastly that the club lit a match and torched his contract.

So ghastly that Perry vanished to put his personal house in order, leaving us to wonder when/if he’ll be seen on an NHL freeze again.

Meantime, rookie Connor Bedard and kin were caught in the swirl of truly odious online innuendo, a rumor that should have ceased with Chicago general manager Kyle Davidson’s disclaimer about players and families.

Alas, the NHL insists that half of Chicago’s skirmishes take place in foreign territory, so last Saturday’s matinee vs. the Jets in Good Ol’ Hometown provided curious news snoops an opportunity to back Bedard against a wall, form a semi-circle around hockey’s latest “it” kid, and ask him about life in a fish bowl that includes enough internet piranha to bite all four legs off an elephant.

This is Pang’s version of that natter (beginning at the 45:45 mark):

“Mark Chipman, the president and owner of the Winnipeg Jets, took the time, as the Hawks were getting on the bus to leave, and made sure he went up to Connor and apologized,” he told Mike Russo on The Athletic Hockey Show on Dec. 5. “It was really one reporter, his name’s Paul Friesen. And he…one question was asked. Connor answered it beautifully. He’s not afraid to answer it. He’s not afraid to tell people that he’s aware of what goes on, and basically it’s a bunch of BS, we’re okay, our family’s…we’re good. But then Paul Friesen asked another question, another question, another question, another question. And so that’s what Mark Chipman was apologizing for.”

What a load of hooey.

This is what I saw and heard on video of that scrum:

Sean Reynolds of Sportsnet sought the first sound bite, asking, “I wonder, you knew you were coming into this league with a spotlight on you. Have you learned or taken any lessons away from the kind of unfortunate place that spotlight can take you?”

Paul Friesen of the Winnipeg Sun then added his voice to the natter. He did not—repeat, not!— ask another question, another question, another question, another question. He had two follow-ups to Reynolds’ kick-start. Two!

“What’s it been like going through it?”

“Is there a message to people who take part in it? I mean, maybe they forget you are people, you are young people.”

There was zero mention of young Connor’s parents or his sister. Both reporters simply sought a sense of how the kid was coping with unwanted attention born of the Perry scandal, and the ‘life in a fish bowl’ portion of the to-and-fro took less than two minutes.

Yet Pang makes it sound as if Friesen went all-60 Minutes on Bedard, badgering him like he’d been O.J.’s driver during the white Ford Bronco slow-speed chase. So lame.

As for Chipman delivering a mea culpa to Connor, spare me.

Last I looked, the Puck Pontiff was co-bankroll, chairman and governor of the Jets, not lord and master of local news snoops. Hell, he rarely talks to them, so I’d suggest he spend his time trying to fill the 3,000-plus unoccupied chairs in the Little Hockey House On The Prairie rather than play the role of journalism prof.

But, hey, perhaps the mea culpa didn’t actually happen. I mean, Pang’s power of recall is highly suspect, given his version of the Bedard-Reynolds/Friesen exchange, so maybe he dreamt it while snoozing in an overhead luggage bin.

Many among the rabble were appalled that Reynolds and Friesen would quiz an 18-year-old kid on such a sensitive subject, but here’s something that Hawks insider Pang tells us about Bedard: “He’s beyond 18.” And here’s Ben Pope of the Chicago Sun-Times, who referenced Bedard’s “remarkable maturity” and added this: “He’s not just mature for an 18-year-old. He’s mature, period.” In that case, he ought to be able to handle big-boy questions, which he did, albeit with a degree of discomfort. His poise was admirable. Good for him.

Friesen, who absorbed an unwarranted and fierce flogging on X for his part in the Bedard exchange, is a friend and former colleague, and I can tell you he wouldn’t have approached that scrum with the notion of digging down to the scuzzy elements of internet innuendo. That isn’t how he rolls. He came from a base of empathy, and I’m convinced Reynolds did the same thing. I don’t know Reynolds, but I’ve seen and heard enough of his work to conclude he’s above board. “My idea behind asking that question is to take a family that was victimized and allow people to understand how it affected them, and then maybe think twice about the way that this carried out, the way that this thing spread like wildfire,” he explained to listeners to The Kenny and Renny Show on Dec. 3. Works for me.

The aforementioned Sun-Times beat guy Pope delivered this odd commentary on X: “Winnipeg media asked Connor Bedard about the impact of the Perry ‘rumors’ today. Frankly, I don’t think this was an appropriate time to do so. But I do think his response is worth posting.” Let me see if I’ve got this straight: It wasn’t the proper time to ask the questions, but it was the proper time to record and report the answers. Interesting concept. I mean, without the question there is no response to post. Perhaps Pope developed that twisted logic at the Mark Chipman School of Journalism.

Pope’s colleague, Rick Morrissey, gave Winnipeg news snoops a scolding.

“This was a fire hose pumping gasoline on a blaze that should have been allowed to go out by itself,” he scribbled. “Bedard’s quotes went all over the world.

“Now, what will have staying power—the rumor or Bedard’s response to the rumor?

“The rumor, of course. 

“It’s why the questions never should have been asked of him. He never should have been asked about something that had never occurred. And if the Winnipeg reporters went on to write sympathetic stories that painted the rookie as a victim, it doesn’t change the fact that the stories’ foundation was a false rumor—even if the Winnipeg media reported his response, not the rumor itself. You can put nice wrapping paper around a box of poop, but it doesn’t change the box’s contents.”

“Standards separate the media from social media. Reporters have standards that are meant to keep them in check and push them to be fair. Social media has few restrictions, very little conscience and a snuffed-out guiding light.

“If we’re not careful, we in the media eventually will be doing laps in that same cesspool.”

Apparently, it didn’t occur to Morrissey that his own man, Pope, had also “put nice wrapping paper around a box of poop” by reporting Bedard’s response, if not the rumor itself.

If you’ll permit me a philosophical thought, all of the above is a reminder that the human race would be a brilliant concept if not for the people.

Perhaps I’m slow on the uptake, but weren’t the Jets adorned in Royal Canadian Air Force jerseys on Canadian Armed Forces Night at the Little Hockey House On The Prairie on Dec. 4? And won’t they be wearing the same livery on April 1 to acknowledge the 100th anniversary of the RCAF? And here I thought specialty unis on theme nights were taboo in the NHL.

I swear I heard Sportsnet gab guy Sam Cosentino rank Jets legend Dale Hawerchuk among the top 20 NHL players of all time. No doubt Ducky was statue-worthy. I’ve always admired him. But top 20? I’m not so sure about that.

On a similar note, there’s an RBC commercial that identifies Auston Matthews as “world’s best hockey player.” Connor McDavid and a handful of other guys demand a recount.

Hey, if you plan a visit to Montreal to watch les Canadiens, you can arrange a personal meet-and-greet visit from mascot Youppi! That’s right, Youppi! At your seat! For $195! Good grief. How much would Mickey and Minnie cost?

Given just one word to describe the Toronto Blue Jays failed pursuit of baseball unicorn Shohei Ohtani, it would have to be “heartbroken.” They’re saying it on our flatscreens, they’re saying it online, they’re saying it in our newspapers, they’re saying it on the streets in the Republic of Tranna. Well, you’ll have to excuse me, but my heart isn’t broken. I bleed Dodgers blue, you see, so I’m delighted that the best player in Major League Baseball is taking a U-Haul up the I-5 from Anaheim to Los Angeles, and I don’t care if they broke the bank ($700 million, 10 years) to land him in a World Series-or-bust gambit.

It’s about the Ohtani saga: Is it just me, or did anyone else find the unabashed cheerleading by Canadian media cringeworthy? I mean, all the “Please, please, please pick us!” groveling was positively hick-townish. I expect to see professional jock journos on the TSN and Sportsnet anchor desks, not Ma and Pa Kettle gushing like ninnies who swilled too much moonshine at the county turkey shoot.

Little wonder rapper and Toronto Raptors courtside sideshow Drake wanted to see Ohtani in Blue Jays linen next season. Except, based on ShoTime’s salary, if the Jays had reeled him in Drake would have been the only person in the Republic of Tranna who could afford tickets.

It’s easy to understand why TSN props up Steve Phillips as its baseball insider/expert—he simply tells the Canadian audience precisely what they want to hear. Are the Blue Jays a World Series contender? “Absolutely?” Is Bo Bichette the best shortstop in baseball? “You bet.” Are the Blue Jays screwed after going all in on Ohtani? “Not at all. They’ll go out and get all the best guys not named Ohtani and they’ll be a better team for it.”

LIV Golf introduced Jon Rahm as its shiny, new toy last week, and many observers were quick to document the Grand Slam champion’s hypocrisy. In June 2022, for example, he said: “To be honest, part of the (LIV) format is not really appealing to me. Shotgun, three days to me is not a golf tournament, no cut. It’s that simple. I want to play against the best in the world in a format that’s been going on for hundreds of years. That’s what I want to see.” Yet now the Spaniard loves those LIV quirks and, hey, he’ll have an extra day off every week to count all the Saudi money that lured him away from the PGA Tour, all of which prompted Eamon Lynch of Golfweek to opine: “In citing his need to feather the family nest for future generations, the appeal of innovative formats and an overwhelming ambition to grow the game, Rahm checked every box in the bullshit bingo that attends all LIV signings.”

It’s only fitting that Sports Illustrated would anoint Deion Sanders its Sportsperson of the Year. I mean, an artificial football coach for an artificial sports magazine sounds about right.

Like many of my vintage, I sometimes yearn for what once was, and SI once was the best sports mag on newsstands everywhere, give or take Sport magazine and the Street and Smith’s Baseball Yearbook. I long ago ceased reading SI, but I do remember a time when you had to do more than lose football games and wear sunglasses to earn the Sportsperson of the Year nod. Any one of Nikola Jokic, Coco Gauff, Lionel Messi, Caitlin Clark or Simone Biles would have been a better choice, but the self-promoting braggart won. Sigh.

The Christine Sinclair farewell last week was superbly orchestrated and tear-inducing, yet, given her accomplishments on soccer pitches around the globe, it still somehow seemed inadequate.

I really enjoy the ‘Weekends With’ feature in the Saturday Globe and Mail. Yesterday it was Simon Houpt in conversation with CBC broadcaster Andi Petrillo and, as always, we discovered more about the person than the talking head. Like, did you know Andria once taught piano and her favorite tune to play is Terms of Endearment? It’s always good copy, and I don’t know why more newspapers don’t put that kind of magazine-style stuff on their sports pages, rather than dreary, day-old info.

Interesting piece from Ted Wyman in today’s Winnipeg Sun about the lack of diversity in Canadian curling. He notes that the vast majority of our Pebble People are white, and Curling Canada seeks to get more people of color, LGBT(etc.) folks and other minorities involved. Ironically, our female champion, Kerri Einarson, is Metis and the men’s world champion, Bruce Mouat, is gay.

Just wondering: Does anyone actually place bets on the information Davis Sanchez provides on TSN? Somehow I doubt it. So why, TSN, why?

Apparently the NBA in-season tournament was a rousing success, but I still don’t know what it was all about. Except, of course, to prove that a soon-to-be 39-year-old LeBron James is still better than 95 per cent of everyone in hoops.

And, finally, I don’t know about you, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the Winnipeg Blue Bombers losing the Grey Cup game, and that was three weeks ago.

Let’s talk about Pebble People getting a raw deal…McDavid, Draisaitl and who are those other guys?…dirty rotten scoundrels…no room in Cooperstown for cheats and Schilling…the Babe, booze and babes…Ponytail Puck…and other things on my mind

Another Sunday smorgas-bored…and in honor of Groundhog Day, I’ll pop my head out of the ground on Tuesday and let you know if there’ll be six more weeks of bad blogging…

Kerri Einarson, Val Sweeting, Briane Meilleur, Shannon Birchard (clockwise from top left) from Gimli are the defending Scotties Tournament of Hearts champions.

So let me see if I’ve got this straight:

National Hockey League players traipse willy-nilly across the COVID-infected tundra, and they’re granted a quarantine exemption from Manitoba’s top docs and politicos. Meanwhile, our curlers plan to shelter themselves in a Calgary bubble for the Scotties Tournament of Hearts, the Brier and the mixed nationals, yet they’re told they must go into isolation for the full 14 days once they return home from two weeks of hijinks in February/March. No quarantine exemption for you!

This is fair how?

Oh, wait. Silly me. I forgot that the millionaire hockey players provide an “essential” service (as if the Ottawa Senators are “essential” to anyone), while bunking down in five-star hotels and being whisked about in charter or private aircraft. The curlers? Apparently, hurrying hard is not an “essential” service. Pebble People are just everyday working stiffs blessed with good draw weight, so it doesn’t matter that they might have to carpool their way to and from Calgary. Or that they might be out of pocket if away from the salt mines for an additional 14 days. It only matters that the millionaire hockey players are happy.

That is so wrong.

Hey, I’ve never thought of hockey players as coddled and pampered. They have a special skill that means they take in rarified oxygen, but the same has to be said of our curlers, who are among the best on the planet. And Pebble People are the salt of the earth.

If hockey players deserve a quarantine concession, the curlers do too.

Quick thought on the Winnipeg Jets: Evander Kane has an oversized personality. Gone. Patrik Laine has an oversized personality. Gone. Dustin Byfuglien has an oversized personality. Gone. What are we to make of that?

We need to discuss the Edmonton Oilers, because they annoy me. The Oilers are Jesse James, Billy the Kid and 18 guys with water pistols. Seriously, they have more no-names than the Witness Protection Program. I watch the Oilers play and, 60 minutes later, it’s like Butch and Sundance: “Who are those guys?” They’re as memorable as the second man to leave a footprint on the moon. You know, Ol’ What’shisname.

That bothers me.

It shouldn’t, of course, because the Oilers became the Evil Empire in Good Ol’ Hometown during the 1980s, when they made paddywhacking the Jets a spring ritual during their Stanley Cup binge. It’s been a pox on the E-Town house ever since. But I can’t help it. I want Connor McDavid and Leon Draisaitl to succeed. So sue me.

I just don’t think the Oilers should stink. Just like the Montreal Canadiens, Los Angeles Lakers, Boston Celtics, New York Yankees and Green Bay Packers should never stink. It’s okay to root, root, root against any or all of those storied franchises, but you shouldn’t want them to stink.

Oh, I know, many among the rabble in Good Ol’ Hometown can’t get past that 1980s thing, and they’re probably still sticking pins in their old Slats Sather, Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier voodoo dolls.

Well, hocus-pocus rituals aren’t necessary these days. The Oilers stink on their own merit.

Yes, I realize they managed to muster up a victory on Saturday night, nudging the Toronto Maple Leafs 4-3 in OT, but they’re 4-6 and that’s no way to behave when your lineup features McDavid and Draisaitl.

Fashion note: Those reverse retro unis that the Oilers wore on Saturday night looked like poorly designed Orange Crush bottles, and the Leafs’ threads were absolutely ghastly. Seriously. Dark blue numbers on dark blue sweaters? The ghost of Humpty Harold Ballard lives on.

The Tkachuk boys, Brady, top, and Matthew.

Random observations two weeks into the 2021 NHL crusade: There’s a very good reason why so many players in the Hoser Division are at or near the top of the NHL scoring table: Nobody plays defence. There are no big, ugly, nasty teams that lean on you, just a bunch of fly boys. That works now, but not so much once they’re down to the final four in Beard Season and the Canadian survivor is required to deal with big bodies that try to slow them down…You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t join the chorus and rave about the entertainment level of COVID hockey. Much of the activity I’ve seen has been, to borrow a Danny Gallivanism, “as shabby as an old hobo’s coat.”…The Tkachuk brothers are soooo smarmy. Both Matthew and Brady are more irritating than a bad case of fanny fungus. They’re the dirty, rotten scoundrels who like to sit at the back of the class and fire spitballs at the nerds. They probably stole enough lunch money to prop up a third-world country. But, yes, I’d take either one of them on my team…The Ottawa Senators are an embarrassment best kept off prime time TV…It’s obvious the Hoser Division playoff positions will come down to this: The two teams that piddle away the most points v. the Senators will be on the outside looking in. That means the next week is pivotal to the Oilers’ post-season aspirations. They’ll be fed a steady diet of the Sens, meeting them four times…Yes, I still think a Hoser Division is a boffo idea, but I’m not sold on the baseball-style schedule. I understand the reasoning behind it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it…Hands up anyone who knows what teams are leading the other three divisions. Actually, hands up anyone who can name the other three divisions…I was wrong about the Montreal Canadiens. They look legit. I was wrong about the Senators. I thought youthful enthusiasm would serve them well. I was right about the Calgary Flames. Their win over the Habs on Saturday notwithstanding, the Flames are a false bill of goods, and will continue to be as long as they have Milan Lucic dragging his knuckles up and down the freeze…Shouldn’t Sportsnet lift their regional blackouts and give us the full menu each night in this special season? If it’s all the same to them, I’d much rather watch the Jets-Habs than Canucks-Senators.

Part of Curt Schilling’s Nazi memorabilia.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame will go 0-for-2021, with no players receiving the required 75 per cent of the vote for enshrinement to Cooperstown, and that means “integrity, sportsmanship, character” won out over stats. Noted steroids cheats Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens struck out in this year’s balloting, as did Curt Schilling, who collects Nazi SS memorabilia and isn’t fond of anyone unless they wear a MAGA hat and attend Toby Keith concerts. It’s the ninth time Schilling has been snubbed by the Baseball Writers’ Association of America, and now he wants his name erased from the ballot. “I’ll defer to the veterans committee and men whose opinions actually matter and who are in a position to actually judge a player,” he wrote in a self-indulgent, 1,200-word whinge on Facebook. He also labeled Boston Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy a “morally decrepit” man, and accused scribes of lining up to “destroy my character.” I don’t know about that. Seems to me Schilling has assassinated his own character on social media, with transphobic tweets, a posting that suggested lynching journalists is “so much awesome,” calling Baltimore Orioles outfielder Adam Jones a liar for accusing fans at Fenway Park in Boston of dropping N-bombs in his direction, and giving thumbs up to the recent riot at the U.S. Capitol. Bottom line on Schilling’s NBHOF candidacy: “I don’t think I’m a hall of famer,” he said. Fine. Case closed.

The Babe and the babes.

Most peculiar take on the latest NBHOF voting was delivered by TSN analyst Steve Phillips. The former Major League Baseball exec drew a parallel between segregation and ‘roid cheaters Bonds and Clemens sticking needles in their butts. “There’s been performance enhancement in every era of baseball,” Phillips said. “Babe Ruth didn’t play against some of the best Negro League players of the time, players went to war, players stayed home, the mound was lowered, the DH was entered, ballparks have changed. So it’s been in every era.” Hmmm. I thought the Babe hit all those home runs (714) because he was a rare breed, but now I find out it was only because he never saw the spin on a Satchel Paige slider. Who knew? Actually, I have a different theory, and it has nothing to do with Jim Crow-era baseball or the boys of summer marching off to kick Hitler’s ass. To wit: Had the Babe laid off the booze, the babes and the speakeasies, and had he not missed playing time due to STDs, he would have swatted 914 dingers.

In his first natter with news snoops after signing with Toronto, slugger George Springer compared the Blue Jays to his Houston Astros outfit that cheated its way to a World Series title. “This (Jays) lineup reminds me a lot of them,” he said. Great. Vlad the Gifted gets a trash can. Bo Bichette gets a trash can. Cavan Biggio gets a trash can. Everybody gets a trash can. Bang the can slowly, boys.

Nice to see Sportsnet and, on a more subdued level, TSN have discovered the National Women’s Hockey League. Until last week, any talk of Ponytail Puck at Sportsnet was reserved for the Professional Women’s Hockey Players Association, and it was mostly pathetic pandering from Tara Slone and Ron MacLean. Now Sportsnet Central is delivering nightly updates/highlights on the Isobel Cup season/tournament in Lake Placid, and there are numerous articles on the website. It’s fabulous.

An outfit from the Republic of Tranna is in Lake Placid. It’s called the Six. It has a 3-1-1 record, and stands atop the NWHL tables. Someone might want to clue in the geniuses at the Toronto Sun. I look daily but, unless I missed it, the tabloid has given its home team less ink than Bernie Sanders’ mittens. TorSun trumpets itself as the top sports sheet in the nation, but I call BS on that if they can’t squeeze in a few paragraphs about Ponytail Puck.

It’s puzzling that the aforementioned PWHPA has gone radio silent on its website since Dec. 21. Not a peep. The propaganda peddlers have stopped telling us that they “deserve” a living wage, that they “deserve” an affiliation with the NHL, that they “deserve” our undivided attention, and there have been no photo-ops with Billie Jean King. The Dream Gappers have $1 million of funding from Secret, and they’ve said they’ll stage a series of barnstorming showcase tournaments, but they still aren’t telling us where or when they’ll drop the puck. Silence is a peculiar way to sell your product.

Speaking of product, the Argos need all the help they can get to make the rabble in the Republic of Tranna sit up, take notice and find their way to BMO Field, so what do they do? That’s right, they sign a repeat offender of the National Football League drug policy. Martavis Bryant was first banished for four games in 2015, then sent to his room for the entire 2016 crusade, then punted indefinitely in 2018. The Canadian Football League needs guys like Bryant the way Bill Gates needs my spare change.

It was a double whammy of bad tidings for Rouge Football last week. Aside from the Bryant hiring, Scott Milanovich took his three Grey Cup rings and walked away from the E-Town E-Somethings before ever stepping onto the sideline at Commonwealth Stadium, and can anyone really blame him? Coaches gotta coach, and since we don’t know if there’ll be three-downs football this year, Milanovich opted for the sure thing as quarterbacks guru with the Indianapolis Colts. I just wonder if this means the second coming of Chris Jones to the E-Somethings.

Pam Shriver, left, and Martina Navratilova.

So, TSN ran a feature discussing the greatest athlete of all time in North American “team sports.” Names tossed about were Tom Brady, LeBron James, Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky. SportsCentre co-anchor Kayla Grey immediately added this to the debate: “Ask Serena Williams about all that,” she said smugly. Just wondering: What part of “team sports” does Grey not understand? Last time I looked, Williams is a tennis player. Her specialty is singles play. If, however, we were to consider her form chart in doubles, which certainly is a team sport, Williams isn’t the GOAT in the women’s game. It’s Martina Navratilova, who once partnered with Pam Shriver to win 109 consecutive matches and went more than two years without a loss. Check it out:

Grand Slam Doubles Titles
Navratilova 41 Williams 16

Doubles Match Victories
Navratilova 747 Williams 190

Doubles Titles
Navratilova 187 Williams 25

There are at least 37 women and 55 men with more doubles titles than Williams, including our guy Daniel Nestor with 95. Do the math. Williams’ 25 doesn’t spell G-O-A-T in “team sports” to me.

Really, it’s time for Serena-ites like Grey to cease with the GOAT narrative. She isn’t the greatest tennis player of all time (hello Roger Federer, Rafa Nadal, Novak Djokovic—take your pick), ergo she cannot possibly be the finest athlete in history. So do us all a favor and clam up.

The January numbers are in for coverage of female athletes in the two local rags (30 publishing days):

Sports front
Winnipeg Free Press-4.
Winnipeg Sun-1.

Total number of articles
Winnipeg Free Press-29 (plus 12 briefs).
Winnipeg Sun-3 (plus 4 briefs).

Number of days with female-centric copy
Winnipeg Free Press-21 of 30.
Winnipeg Sun-6 of 30.

And, finally, I think it’s great that so many people are willing to share their mental health challenges on Bell’s Let’s Talk day, but it would be even better if we did it more than once a year. I’ve always thought of mental health as an every-day thing.

Let’s talk about Kevin Cheveldayoff and slow news days…Winnipeg Jets draft-develop-and-D’oh!…just say no to Voynov…Drake the Courtside Drip…Raiders pulling a Cher?…bucking the boycott…Vlad the Gifted gets a day of rest…and the Drab Slab ignores a 40th anniversary

Another Sunday smorgas-bored…and there’s only one NBA final (not finals) but I’ve got more than one item on my menu…

Top o’ the morning to you, Kevin Cheveldayoff.

Well, you sure fooled me, didn’t you? I thought you were doing the Rip Van Chevy thing (read: snoozing) when—poof—you convince Laurent Brossoit that being a millionaire caddie in Winnipeg beats being a backup keeper elsewhere in the National Hockey League.

Chevy

The question now is this, Chevy: When do the other three, four, five shoes drop?

Soon I hope, because I’ve had it up to my eyeliner with the free-wheeling speculation swirling around Jacob Trouba. The boys on the beat (hello Ken Wiebe, Murat Ates) were tripping over their dangling participles and run-on sentences last week trying to determine your next gambit for the top-pair defender, and I really wish you’d give them something juicy to write about.

I mean, both Wiebe at the Winnipeg Sun and Ates at The Athletic delivered chapters 4,375 and 4,376 in the Trouba Saga, and you know what I call that, Chevy? I call it a slow news day. Sloth slow.

Same thing with Mad Mike McIntyre over at the Drab Slab. He’s become so bored with your thumb-twiddling that he decided the cluster climb and body count on Mount Everest (120 reached the peak on Thursday, 15 dead or missing this year) are more interesting than Mount NHL, which you’ve been trying to scale for eight years. So he went Sherpa-speak on us with a yarn about a local dude who lived to talk about surviving the ultimate uphill trudge.

Mad Mike did, mind you, scribble a token piece on your Jets last week, a yawn-inducing recitation of Paul Maurice’s head coaching resume, confirming that a) Coach Potty Mouth remains the seventh-winningest bench jockey in National Hockey League history, b) he is also the losingest bench jockey in NHL history, c) you won’t find his name etched on the Stanley Cup, and d) he’s 52 years old.

You and Stevie Y in Detroit exchanging bubble gum cards would be more interesting than that, Chevy.

I suppose we should be thankful, though. After all, Mad Mike finally managed to get through an entire week without another installment in his whodunit novel Scandal, Jets Wrote.

Puck Pontiff Mark Chipman

Hey, maybe that’s what you can do, Chevy. Tell us what Mad Mike hasn’t been able to dig up. Give us the skinny on what went down in the changing room of that team you generally manage. That ought to generate some juicy, 72-point headlines and spice up an off-season that began at least a month too soon. But no. Don Cherry will turn his back on Bobby Orr before Puck Pontiff Mark Chipman allows you to hang out Winnipeg HC’s dirty laundry in public. If, that is, there’s dirty laundry to hang out.

That’s right, Chevy, I still insist on concrete evidence before I’m convinced that your players’ lair was as “rotten to the core” as Mad Mike and some among the rabble speculate.

The point is, news snoops need you, Chevy. Like Connor McDavid needs an escape route. Only you can save them from themselves. They’ve flat-lined. They’re like a 1960s, grooved-out DJ still spinning Monkees and Herman’s Hermits tunes as if they’re relevant.

Laurent Brossoit

You need to toss the boys on the beat a bone, Chevy, and it wouldn’t take much to arrest their attention. Trust me, news snoops like nothing more than shiny objects right out of the box. So give them something new to gnaw on between now and the NHL’s annual garage sale of freshly scrubbed teenagers next month in Lotus Land.

You’d be doing them, and us, a real large if you could see your way to handing them something that goes ka-boom. Like an upgrade at centre ice or on the blueline.

Anyway, Chevy, it’s good to know you still have a pulse. But the Brossoit signing is mostly meh. It was barely enough to bring Mad Mike home from the Himalayas. And it doesn’t change anything with your Jets, who were found wanting this spring. Improvements are mandatory. Get on with it. The news cycle is depending on you, Chevy. A 72-point headline awaits.

If you’re keeping score at home, Chevy heads to Lotus Land for the NHL entry auction in Vancouver (June 21-22) with just three shout-outs—second, fourth and fifth rounders. So much for that draft-and-develop mantra, I guess. More like draft-develop-and D’oh!

Not to worry, though. The only outfits still standing in this spring’s Stanley Cup runoff, the Boston Bruins and St. Louis Blues, are convenient reminders that there’s more to piecing together a championship-calibre squad than a GM’s handiwork on the draft floor. Here’s how the two finalists were built:
Boston:      9 drafted, 10 free agents, 4 trades.
St. Louis: 12 drafted,   3 free agents, 8 trades.

Slava Voynov

Since you asked, no, I don’t want to see wife-beater Slava Voynov back in the NHL. The Los Angeles Kings have already issued a communiqué stating he’s persona non grata in Tinseltown, but it’s guaranteed he’ll find suitors before his suspension is lifted midway through the 2019-20 crusade. Are les Jets interested in the rancid Russian rearguard? Seems to me that would be a good question to ask Puck Pontiff Chipman, so why aren’t local news snoops asking?

Our little ray of sunshine at Postmedia Tranna, Steve Simmons, posits that any NHL club signing Voynov will “sully their ethics.” Interesting. I mean, when the Hamilton Tiger-Cats brought the woman-beating Johnny Manziel on board, Simmons didn’t view it as a sullying of ethics. More to the point, he was so excited he basically piddled himself in print, gushing: “Johnny Football is coming to Canada. And where do I sign up?” He suggested that the Tabbies signing a guy who thumped out—and threatened to kill—his girlfriend would make the Canadian Football League “maybe more fun, possibly more fan-appealing.”

Drake the a hands-on groupie.

I’m not a hoops freak, so I haven’t watched five seconds of the Tranna Raptors’ push to the National Basketball Association final. But it’s my understanding that Kawhi Leonard and Drake are the leading candidates for playoff MVP. What’s that you say? Drake doesn’t play for the Raptors? He must. I mean, c’mon man, every time I call up the Sportsnet website I’m looking at pics of Drake and reading headlines about him. When I turn on my flatscreen to catch the latest highlights, there’s Drake running around on court like the escapee from a village that just lost its idiot. I hear the Sportsnet anchors flapping their gums about him. Ditto Tim and Sid. Alas, the rapper dude is nothing more than a greasy groupie, or, as Rosie DiManno of the Toronto Star describes him, “a jacked-up fan,” “spectacularly un-cool” and “the barnacle of blingy acolytes.” Rosie also mentioned something about Drake the Courtside Drip’s “mortifying buffoonery,” and I’m totally onside with her when she writes it’s “time for a Dear Drake kiss-off.” Somehow I doubt the geniuses at Sportsnet will get the memo, though.

So, the Green Bay Packers and Oakland Raiders are good to go for a National Football League dress rehearsal at Football Follies Field in Fort Garry in August. Any chance the Raiders will pull a Cher? You know, a no-show? We can only hope.

I wasn’t surprised to hear Cher cancelled her concert in Good Ol’ Hometown last week. What surprised me is that she’s still on tour. And that people still pay money to stare at her glitzy costumes and whatever potted plant she’s wearing on her head. Sorry, Cher fans, but your girl lost me when Sonny lost her.

So how’s that boycott thing working for female shinny stars? Well, the signing season for Dani Rylan’s National Women’s Hockey League has been upon us since May 15, and the grand sum of six players have checked in to buck the boycott. They are:
Boston Pride— Tori Sullivan ($5,000), Kaleigh Fratkin ($11,000), Christina Putigna ($5,000).
Connecticut Whalers—Shannon Doyle (undisclosed).
Metropolitan Riveters—Madison Packer ($12,000).
Minnesota Whitecaps—Allie Thunstrom (undisclosed).
At this rate, there’ll be no need for team buses. Cooper Minis will do.

Vlad the Gifted

My oh my, so much hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing in the Republic of Tranna last week, all because Blue Jays skipper Charlie Montoyo told Vladimir Guerrero Jr. to sit a spell. That is, Charlie failed to pencil Vlad the Gifted into his starting lineup on Victoria Day. Horrors! Some samples of the hue and cry:

Rosie DiManno, Toronto Star: “There’s just no measuring the tonedeafness of this franchise in the Shapiro era.”
Terry Koshan, Postmedia Tranna: “Dumb and short-sighted.”
Steve Simmons, Postmedia Tranna: “Does Mark Shapiro go out of his way to be obtuse and distant from Toronto? Sitting Vladdy Guerrero on a holiday Monday is just one thing—stupid.”
Rob Longley, Postmedia Tranna: “Sitting red-hot Vlad Guerrero Jr. on a national holiday is a big middle finger to fans with tickets and those watching on TV.”
Scott Mitchell, TSN: “Another example of a tone-deaf group running this team as strictly a business and a kinesiology exercise, regularly forgetting fans and the entertainment aspect.”

I swear, there hasn’t been this much fuss over a day of rest since God slacked off on the original Sabbath.

My favorite comment was delivered by Steve Phillips of TSN: “This was an organizational failure. Bad input leads to bad output. Montoyo didn’t understand what Victoria Day means to Canadians.”

Yo! Steve! You know what Victoria Day means to most Canadians? It means a day off. Vlad the Gifted got one. So give it a rest (pun intended).

And, finally, hard to believe that the Drab Slab ignored the 40th anniversary of the last pro shinny championship in Good Ol’ Hometown. I realize they don’t have anyone on staff who was there to witness the Winnipeg Jets’ third and final World Hockey Association triumph, but there’s a reason we have archives. And what, no one at the Freep knows how to work a phone? I guess it was more convenient to fill an entire page with the nonsensical natterings of the resident pen pals, Steve Lyons and Paul Wiecek, whose Say What?! shtick reached its best-before date about two years ago. Shame, shame.